


10. Disaster

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Childishness, Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kinktober, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Valdo Marx Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: disasterJaskier needs Yen's help, and everyone has regrets.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Valdo Marx, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	10. Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note, I'll be on holiday this week so I don't know how much time I'll have to write. I'm probably not going to finish all of these prompts in October but I hope you'll stick around anyway.
> 
> Now: Jaskier being That Bitch, and Geralt has had it up to here.

"This is an unmitigated _disaster_ ," Jaskier murmurs emphatically, pacing the length of the room, the letter clutched in his hand. "How in Melitele's name am I supposed to get to Oxenfurt _within a week_?"

After all these years, he has finally been invited to be a judge at the most well known bardic contest on the entire continent, and of course the invitation finds him with just a week to go all the way up in Poviss! Just his luck, as usual.

Geralt is smiling where he's lounging on the bed, cleaning his fingernails with a small dagger. "We could portal there," he says, and Jaskier feels the urge to strangle him.

"No. Absolutely not. I will _not_ ask fucking Yennefer of Vengerberg for a favour." He huffs. "She still thinks I owe her for that djinn business, which is _patently_ untrue."

"All I'm saying is it's the only way you'll get there in time," Geralt says, completely ignoring his rant about Yennefer, and Jaskier flops down on the bed beside him, face first. Geralt pats the back of his head, which is _incredibly_ patronising. "You've been waiting for this for years, lark. Are you really going to let your little feud with Yen get in the way of your success?"

Jaskier groans and turns his head to look up at the Witcher. "Geralt, you're the light of my life and I love you with all my heart, but I must say it: I _hate it_ when you're right."

Geralt chuckles and puts his dagger away before sliding down on the bed so he can lie face to face with Jaskier. The bard hums and scoots closer, breathing in the familiar scent of his lover. Geralt bumps their noses together. "Let me ask her? I know how happy it would make you to lord this over Marx for the rest of his life."

Jaskier giggles. Geralt knows him too well. "Oh bollocks, all right then." He throws an arm over Geralt's chest and leans in for a kiss. "Think we have time for you to fuck all sense out of my head beforehand, so I won't be tempted to start a fight with her?" For good measure, he bats his eyelashes, and Geralt grins.

"Always," and he pounces.

* * *

Yennefer is none too pleased about Geralt's request, which doesn't surprise Jaskier even a little.

"What am I, your boy toy's personal transportation service," she asks, her voice tinny through the xenovox. Jaskier rolls his eyes at the ceiling from his spot in the crook of Geralt's arm.

"Come on, Yen, I'll owe you one. This is important to Jaskier."

The sorceress huffs, clearly annoyed with the request. "Oh, alright. I'll expect payment, Geralt, don't forget that." She thinks for a moment, then says, "I can be there the day after tomorrow, I have some business to attend to. And you better not be fucking when I get there," she says snippily, and Jaskier hides his face in Geralt's side to stifle his laughter. The Witcher lightly smacks his arse.

"Thank you," he says into the xenovox, voice so sincere it must surely mollify the witch.

"Whatever," she says, and Jaskier can perfectly imagine the way those unsettling violet eyes roll in annoyance. "See you then," and then the connection drops.

Jaskier huffs and presses a kiss to Geralt's chest. "I don't like this. Who knows what she'll ask for?"

"Probably wants me to hunt a wyvern for her or something," Geralt says nonchalantly, and Jaskier glares up at him.

"And that's why I don't like her, she has _no_ concerns for your safety," Jaskier grumbles, and Geralt rolls them over so he hovers above him. It's a very distracting position to be in, Jaskier thinks as the Witcher pins him with his golden gaze.

"You worrying about me is quite enough," Geralt says softly, and then he kisses Jaskier again and all thoughts of Yennefer disappear.

* * *

Two days later, Yennefer appears in the inn, wrapped in a magnificent fur lined cloak, eyes rimmed in dark kohl, and Jaskier feels the jealousy flare bright and hot in his chest. Yes, he's the one getting regularly fucked silly by Geralt, but Yennefer is irrevocably bound to him, and bloody gorgeous to boot.

Jaskier frowns and pokes at his porridge with his spoon, and Geralt places a calming hand on his knee.

"So, ready to depart," Yennefer asks when she walks up to them, her disdain for the little inn plain on her face, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Can we at least finish eating? It's been a very, _very_ long night," he says, batting his lashes innocently, and the hand on his knees squeezes in warning.

Yennefer looks down at him with an expression he imagines she would also direct at something disgusting she'd stepped in. "You think you're cute, _bard_ ," and she says it like it's a horrible insult, "but you're really not."

"Geralt disagrees," he says mildly, and said Geralt sighs.

"Could you two stop?" He looks between them like they're naughty children, and Jaskier has to admit that their behaviour is pretty childish. Whatever, he's the youngest person here _by far_ , he gets to act a little childishly, he thinks.

"Keep your boy on a leash then," Yennefer snaps, "and remind him that I'm doing him a favour." Her eyes narrow as she looks down at Jaskier. He just looks back at her, stuffing another spoonful of porridge into his mouth to stop himself from sticking his tongue out at her.

"And he's grateful for that," Geralt says pointedly, and turns to look at Jaskier. "Aren't you?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. "It might surprise you, but yes." He can say it, really, it's no problem. "Thank you, Yennefer."

The sorceress rolls her eyes again and finally sits on the bench opposite them. "What's the big deal with this contest anyway?"

Jaskier pushes his empty bowl away and laces his fingers together, grinning. "It's one of the most prestigious bardic contests on the continent, and guess who has been chosen as a judge? Little old me, _not_ that bastard Valdo Marx, who everyone's money was on. He has seniority after all." He shouldn't be this smug, but damn it, he will always celebrate getting one over on Valdo Marx.

"Jaskier's rival," Geralt explains at Yennefer's slight look of confusion.

"The gods alone know how he got where he is today," Jaskier says. "The man has no talent to speak of."

Yennefer smiles coldly. "Then why are you so happy to beat him at something?"

Jaskier's eyes narrow dangerously, and beside him, Geralt sighs and runs a hand down his face.

* * *

Being back in Oxenfurt always makes something in Jaskier's blood sing. It's almost like being a little tipsy, that pleasant rush one gets after a goblet of wine or two.

Being here with Geralt and Yennefer of all people is... an experience.

With all the subtlety of a smith's hammer to the face, she has portaled them straight onto the main square, just at the foot of the stairs leading up to the estate of the current noble governing the city (they change so often, court intrigues being what they are, that Jaskier has lost sight of who that is at the moment), and people are gawking. Even for Oxenfurt, this is a rare spectacle.

"Could've warned me about where we were going to pop up," he hisses at her from the corner of his mouth, smiling his most winning smile at the people.

"Oh please, as if you don't love being the centre of attention." She looks around for a moment, then pulls a piece of parchment out of a pouch at her belt. "I'm going to stick around for a while, there are some shops here I haven't visited in a while. I assume you'll need to go back for your horse?" She turns to Geralt, her hand moving towards his arm, and Jaskier bristles.

Geralt, darling that he is, sidesteps Yennefer's hand by reaching down and entirely unnecessarily adjusting his belt. "That would be lovely," he says, and Yennefer is very visibly annoyed with his manoeuvre. "The contest lasts two days, right, Jaskier?"

He nods, barely hiding his glee at Yennefer's annoyance. "Yup," he says, popping the p. Yennefer's eye twitches ever so slightly, then both narrow.

"You know," she says, and Jaskier's stomach drops, "I think I'll come and watch some time. See you in all your _glory_." She smiles, and it's all teeth.

"It'll be really boring," he says, "I'll just be sitting around, really."

"Titillating," Yennefer says flatly, then turns around. "I'll see you around, Geralt," she says over her shoulder, and then she waltzes off to inflict her presence on some other unfortunates.

Jaskier glowers at her back as she walks away, the wood of his lute straining in his grip. "I hate her _so much_."

Geralt pulls him into his arms, ignoring the woman walking past them gasping in what Jaskier is fairly sure is disgust. "And I'm sure the feeling is mutual." Jaskier has to laugh. "Come on, lark, let's find an inn so I can get you nice and mellow before you go face the esteemed professors of Oxenfurt University."

Well. Who is he to say no to such a proposition?

* * *

Watching Valdo Marx fume is always a pleasure. Watching him toddle into the great hall from his vantage point of on his gorgeous Witcher lover's arm is downright orgasmic.

"You're gloating," Geralt says, and Jaskier laughs.

"And deservedly so, my dear. Valdo is a villain and a cad without a shred of talent, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life rubbing my triumph in his dumb wrinkly face."

Geralt chuckles and draws him closer. "Let's give him something to gossip about," he says, then leans in and nibbles on Jaskier's ear. Jaskier's eyes flutter.

"And people call _me_ the deviant," he breathes, smiling unsubtly at Valdo, who turns an unhealthy shade of red and stalks away. Jaskier laughs again and turns to face Geralt, catching his mouth in a kiss. "Thank you for coming with me, my love. Don't tell anyone but I'm actually _quite_ nervous about this." And he is. This contest is nothing to laugh about, and being a judge in it is a high honour.

"I know, but you have nothing to be nervous about," Geralt says gently. "You're _my_ bard, and besides, you could run laps around any of these people." He pushes a stray lock of hair out of Jaskier's forehead. "Go and dazzle them."

And Jaskier does. He charms the dean of the university and most of the professors, meets old friends and generally has a _marvelous_ time.

Until the doors open, and Yennefer walks in, in all her perfection and glory and _ugh_.

He tries very hard to ignore her and listens to a debate about the rise of a new instrument called the harpsichord. Or rather, tries to listen, because it takes about two minutes for Valdo Marx to spot the sorceress and make his way over to her.

Oh, this is going to be _good_.

Unfortunately for him, the contest begins soon after and he loses sight of the two of them, but not before he catches a last look of Yennefer's face. Her expression is pinched, but there's a glint in her eyes that he doesn't like. At all.

The contest itself is marvelous, as expected. A few of his friends and former students are competing, and he's immensely pleased that his fellow judges rate those particularly highly. When they break for lunch, Geralt is by his side all of a sudden, a strained look on his face.

"You won't like this," he says, and Jaskier immediately seeks out Yennefer in the sea of faces.

Oh _no._

She's sitting beside Marx, and she's smiling.

"Geralt," he says faintly, holding onto his lover's arm, "I think I'm going to be sick."

* * *

For some godsforsaken reason, Yennefer stays, and she stays by Marx's side. Jaskier is thoroughly befuddled. Marx is about as interesting as a damp piece of bread, and he expected the sorceress to have higher standards than that.

It's not until that evening, when he's in bed with Geralt, the Witcher doing his best to chase all thoughts of either Marx or Yennefer out of his head, that he realises what is happening. He sits bolt upright, almost head butting Geralt in the process.

"Melitele' enormous tits, that conniving _bitch_!"

Geralt, bless his soul, sighs. He rolls away from his spot between Jaskier's thighs and covers his face with a hand. "What now?"

Jaskier whirls around, pointing an accusing finger at the door. "Yennefer is milking Marx for information about me!"

"And?"

"And? _And_?!" How does Geralt not see this for the catastrophe it is? "He'll tell her all sorts of lies! The man never liked me, even before I bested him at pretty much everything, gods know what he'll come up with!"

Geralt sighs again, then takes Jaskier by the hand and pulls him down beside him. Jaskier goes, reluctantly. He's worked himself into such a nice tizzy, he's unwilling to let it go. "And what is Yen going to do with made up stories about you?"

"Spread them of course!" Oh yes, that tizzy is fully intact. "The man has no imagination so just think what boring shit he'll come up with! I don't want any of that going around." He huffs, and Geralt kisses his forehead.

"If it bothers you this much, I could always Axii him out of her way. Make him scared of her."

Jaskier snorts a laugh. "Oh, that would be something, wouldn't it?" He sighs, then rolls to his side and kisses Geralt softly on the lips. "I don't deserve you, you lovely man. But no, that would just make her think there's actually something to his nonsense." He snuggles closer, draws his fingertips through the hair on Geralt's chest, circles a nipple until Geralt shifts beside him. "Besides, you use your powers for good, not to appease your irrational little lover."

Geralt laughs and pulls him on top of him, to straddle his hips, and Jaskier's eyes flutter. "That what you are," he asks, his hands on Jaskier's hips moving him gently, and Jaskier's mouth falls open.

"Hmm, I admit the irrational part is debatable," he murmurs, and Geralt huffs another laugh, and then they stop talking about evil sorceresses and old musicians and concentrate on other things entirely.

* * *

The next day dawns bright and early, and Jaskier blinks up at the window, listens to the birds in the tree outside their room. It's peaceful, and lovely, Geralt wrapped around him and snoring softly into his shoulder, and there's a sense of peace inside him that he only ever feels when they're like this. Safe, loved, protected.

Of course it doesn't last. At breakfast, Marx saunters over to him when Jaskier is picking out some fruit, a smarmy grin on his lined face.

"So that Witcher of yours," he says, pretending to inspect an apple.

"What about him," Jaskier asks placidly. He can feel Geralt's eyes on him, knows he's watching, and because Jaskier has no self-control, knowing that makes him reckless. It's not one of his better qualities.

"Is it true he can only get it up if you blindfold him, so he doesn't have to look at your face?"

Jaskier is dimly aware of Geralt walking towards them really rather quickly, but that's about all he's aware of as he drops his plate. The sound his fist makes connecting with Valdo's jaw is immensely satisfying.

* * *

Geralt's hand is tight on his shoulder, his grip like iron, and Jaskier feels rather like a naughty school boy having been summoned to the headmaster's office. It's not incorrect. They are in the dean's office after all.

"I do apologise, Master Marx," he grits out. Valdo is grinning smugly, or as smugly as he can with his bruised jaw. "That behaviour was uncalled for and unfitting of my station."

The dean clears his throat. "Master Pankratz, I hope you're aware that this puts me in quite the predicament as regards your continued position of being a judge in this contest. We cannot have people thinking this is how alumni of this esteemed university conduct themselves."

Something hot flares in Jaskier's chest. His _conduct_ has been a topic of gossip for years, and it didn't stop them from asking him to be a judge in the first place, did it?

"I assure you, it will not happen again. I can be entirely professional." _Unlike some people_ , he thinks, glaring at Valdo for a moment.

In the end, he has to shake hands with the idiot, and it's only the way Marx flinches when Geralt offers his hand as well, staring the man down, that soothes his ire at this whole situation somewhat.

The rest of the day progresses in an entirely unremarkable fashion, and he doesn't see hide nor hair of Yennefer all day, so that is certainly an improvement. She doesn't reappear until the evening, when the closing ceremony moves smoothly into festivities that make a mockery of the dean's words about _conduct_ , and Jaskier is too much into his cups by that point to care.

Yennefer slides smoothly into the seat beside him, wearing a magnificent low cut dress made of black silk, a wine glass clutched in her slender fingers. Jaskier understands why men fall at her feet.

"That's quite the shiner Marx is sporting there," she says conversationally, and Jaskier snorts.

"It is, isn't it?" He shakes his hand out a little. "Too bad he also bruised my hand with his jaw, the fiend."

Yennefer actually laughs at that, and he smiles. The alcohol has made him mellow enough to be somewhat charitable towards her. "He had quite the stories to tell, you know," Yennefer continues, then takes a sip from her wine. "He doesn't have your talent for weaving a yarn, I have to give you that."

"What's this? Is the great Yennefer of Vengerburg _complimenting_ me?" He clutches the front of his doublet, making a surprised face, and Yennefer rolls her eyes.

"Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

Yennefer takes them back to Poviss the next morning, as agreed, and when Geralt asks about the payment, she waves him off.

"I haven't been entertained this well in quite some time. Just keep some wyvern parts for me next time you hunt one and I'll consider us even."

She leaves soon after, and Jaskier slumps against Geralt's chest. "Can we go back to monster hunting now, _please_? I forgot quite how stressful Oxenfurt is, and I've had enough of it for at least a decade."

Geralt chuckles and pulls him into a kiss, and Jaskier responds enthusiastically. "Roach is still stabled and we have money," the Witcher says against his lips, "we can stay another day." His hands are moving from Jaskier's waist down towards his arse, and Jaskier tips his head back and grins.

"Lead the way, my love."

Geralt does, and Jaskier follows happily. Being a celebrated bard is really not all there is to life, not when you have your very own Witcher.


End file.
